


I called for your help, but you were the trouble

by WritingsOfAHobbit



Series: Thranduil/Reader Stories [7]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: F/M, Reader Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-02-23
Packaged: 2018-03-14 18:53:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3421736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingsOfAHobbit/pseuds/WritingsOfAHobbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Imagine screaming thranduil’s name when you’re in danger in botfa and him rescuing you but gets furious when he told you to stay home</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

You’re an idiot. An idiot with a death wish. A death wish that will be carried out by either your parents, your king or one of the fifteen orcs surrounding you.

If only you had  _listened_!

Thranduil, your beloved king whom you had devoted your life to, had told you to  _stay at home_. To stay safe whilst he led an army of elves, amongst them your mother and brother, to battle with dwarves (and later, you learned, an array of goblins, orcs and trolls) where many fighters from all sides would die.

Your father had kept you busy with ordering his books in his library, dusting off the shelves and neatening up you home, but once he turned his back you collected your sword, donned your armour and ran for battle.

By the time you had arrived the battle was raging thick and fast, with blood soaking into the dirt and dead bodies from all sides. Dale had been overrun and that was where you found yourself now, fighting orcs away from humans scrambling for safety.

The humans who had gotten away first had obviously tried to get help, as a few men with swords come round a corner. They manage to distract three of the orcs and dispatch of them, but they’re too slow and clumsy to make a difference. You order them away and they turn-tail and flee.

You’re aware that if these orcs don’t kill you then you mother will, once she’s murdered your father for being careless.  If not her then Thranduil will do it, and an angry Thranduil is far worse than an angry mother.

The orcs are getting closer together and there’s hardly and room to swing your sword. You’ve managed to press back against a wall, leaving only three sides for attack to come from.

But it’s not enough.

If you falter now, miss a step or lose focus for even a second, your guts will pain the snow and stone.

You don’t have a choice. If help doesn’t come soon, then you will die here.

“Thranduil!”

There may be no use in calling the name of your King. He may be out in the fields, surrounded by enemies of his own, but never before has he failed to come when you called.

“Thranduil!”

You call again. The orcs are pressing closer now and your fighting is becoming less orchestrated and more desperate. If help doesn’t come soon then you will surely die.

“ _Thranduil!_ ”

There is a whoosh of fabric rustling above you as someone jumps from the top of the wall, and suddenly Thranduil has landed on the other side of the pack of orcs.

Thranduil cuts them down three at a time, until there is nothing left but I pile of corpses and a pool of blood.

You  _thought_ he might be relieved, or even a little worried.

He is not.

He. Is.  _Furious_.

“What are you doing here?” The king manages to hiss at you whilst raising his voice to a level where you can hear him across the bodies between you.

“What does it look like?” I  _looks_ like you were about to die, but you meant to insinuate that you were fighting.

“I told you to stay behind!”

You look at him as though he is truly stupid. “You expected me to  _listen_?” you ask incredulously. “I’m a warrior! I have been trained to fight from the moment that I could stand!”

“You have been trained to follow orders as well!” Thranduil snaps. “You failed to obey me!”

There is a surprising lack of enemies right now and you would really like for one to appear so that this doesn’t have to dissolve into the impending fight. “I came to protect my family and my friends!” You protest, taking a step forwards in anger. “To protect  _you_!”

“Yet it is I who must once again save you!”

“’ _Once again_ ’? This is the first time I have ever needed your assistance!”

“Clearly you need my assistance in learning how to follow orders!” Thranduil snaps. “You have disobeyed a direct order and broke the promise you swore to me when you joined the guard.”

You glare at Thranduil, your gaze meeting his own icy blue one. For so long you have fought for him, aided in the protection of his kingdom and stood by his side. Never before has he rebuked you for not following an order you did not agree with.

“Go home.” He orders, disappointment filling his voice. He turns from you, heading for the archway to re-join the battle.

“Thranduil!”

“You have lost my respect and trust today and no longer have the privilege to address me so casually.” He says over his shoulder. He pauses only when he reaches the arch. “I send you home in disgrace. Your mother and your brother will follow you.”

“But-“

“If you fail to heed these order then I will see your defiance as an act of treachery and you will be charged with treason.” Without saying anything more Thranduil disappears around a corner to re-join the battle.

You stare in shock at where he stood moments ago. Tears of frustration and betrayal burn the back of your eyes, and you want to scream in frustration. You will not let Thranduil walk away from you and think it a triumph over your will, but you will not disobey him and risk the honour of your family.

You turn sharply on your heel and head for home, cutting down anything in your path with a cold indifference. If Thranduil wants you to act as a mindless subject, rather than the equal you have become, then that is what you will do.

When he returns from battle he  _will_ apologise for his actions.


	2. Chapter 2

If your father was brave enough to reprimand you, he’d have lectured your ear off by now. As it is, you’ve inherited the temper that made your mother fearless in battle. Your father leaves you well alone. 

Upon your return to the thrice-cursed woodland realm you call ‘home’, you had grunted a greeting to your father and made a beeline to the quarters that you and your family shared. Here you let off your steam and allowed boiling rage to cool down to simmering disgruntlement. No doubt that by the time Thranduil dragged his sorry behind home (if that sorry behind hadn’t been speared by an orc) your anger would have returned full force. 

You thought it would make you a good match for your mother when she found out what you did. However, three days passed before the elves returned home. By that time you anger had faded to worry, and harsh words had become silent pleas. 

The entrance hall and the immediate surrounding area was off limits to anyone not a trained healer. You joined people on a balcony three floors up to observe the returning crowd. 

A weight lifted off your chest when the king led the way in. The thought that the last words you had exchanged was crushing you with guilt. Though now you knew he was safe the anger was starting to return.

Behind him came the captain of the guard, looking weak and frail. The battle had obviously not ended well for her. Beyond that came carts carrying the fallen and the injured. Your mother and brother were one of the last to enter, closing the doors behind them. 

“I don’t see Prince Legolas.” Someone whispers. “Do you think he fell?”

“No!” Another replied. “The king would look far more grief stricken. We would have heard in advance.”

“Then where is he?” 

“Perhaps he’s stayed behind?”

The conversation may have continued further, but the king chose that moment to flick his gaze up towards the balcony. Even from such a distance you could see he was unimpressed. The crowd hastily departs and you make your way back to your quarters with word for you father about your mother and brother.  
Whilst your father is pleased to know of their safe return, he knows that your mother will be angry with him for letting you leave.

He is right. 

“I thought I married a man of intelligence!” Your mother throws her hands in the air. “Instead it seems I have married a fool!”

Whilst your father tries (and fails) to defend himself, your brother pulls you aside.

“You should have seen her when she was told.” Your brother grimaces. “The king regretted telling her.”

You frown. “The King told mother?”

“Yes. He came in a flurry of sword and blood, decapitated three goblins in one fell swoop and then berated mother on her parenting skills.”

”He did what?!” Nobody berated your mother on anything.Nobody.

“I almost wished for an orc attack to save the king, but alas, there was none.” 

“But I saw the king return! I was sure mother would kill the one who dared pay her insult!”

“As did I, but she remained silent.I am sure she was too shocked to say anything.”

You flick your gaze across to your mother. She is not but 100 years younger than the king, and has the same First Age attitude that he does. That is to say she takes crap from no one and her rage is terrifying to control. If your mother did now defend herself to the king before then one of two things are soon to happen: the first is that your mother will ignore the king for the rest of eternity, and the second is that she will publicly confront him in the near future. Neither option bodes well for the future of the family. The only thing to do is convince the king to apologise. It will not be an easy task. 

The only way to maintain peace is for you to speak to the King yourself. In the past this would not have been a problem, but now that the king is (wrongly) angry with you he will likely refuse an audience with you. 

But the only other alternative is to wait for your mother’s anger to turn to you, and you most certainly do not want that. You offer an excuse to your brother, give your father an ‘I’m-getting-out-of-here-alive’ look and promptly make a break for it.   
  


You make your way slowly towards the King’s chambers, knowing he will be there but not knowing when he will arrive. You don’t want to get there first and look too eager to see him. You’re angry with him after all.   
  


The Woodland Halls are remarkably quiet and empty as you pass through them. Usually there’s someone walking the same corridor, or the sound of laughter filters through an open door. Now there is nothing. Family are reuniting with loved ones and mourning those who have been lost. You count yourself lucky that both of your family members returned home safe.  
Upon approaching the door to the King’s chambers you find Beriogelin standing guard. He looks up as you approach. “Ai.” 

“Ai o mae g’ovannen, Beriogelin.” you nod your head in greeting. “You fare well?”   
  


“As well as I can, all things considering.” Beriogelin inclines his head towards the door. He’s careful of his words, as the King has truly remarkable hearing, even for an elf. “You are here to see the King?”   
  


You nod. Beriogelin is often on guard when you visit.   
  


“I’m sorry to dissapoint you, but he will not hold your company.”   
  


“Did he say my name specifically, or was it a generalised thing?”   
  


Beriogelin looks uncomfortable. 

“Then simply withhold my name.”

With a sigh of defeat and a roll of his eyes, Beriogelin lets himself into the chambers. He returns a few moments later and stands aside to let you in. “He is still worked up over the battle.” you’re warned as you enter. “He still wears his armour and keeps his sword close. Be careful.” 

Heeding his warning you carefully make your way towards the main chamber. It’s a large, circular room which is not dissimilar to the family room in your quarters. Except here everything is larger and more extravagant. A darn sight more expensive too. 

Thranduil stands overlooking a window, his back to you. He is indeed still clothed in his battle armour, with his travelling cloak still secured around his shoulders. You step into the room and know from the way his shoulders tense and he stands up straighter that he knows it’s you. 

He doesn’t address you or even acknowledge your arrival. You have to breach the gap. 

‘Thranduil’ is on the tip of your tongue, until you remember his harsh words.   
You have lost my respect and trust today and no longer have the privilege to address me so casually.

Instead, you settle with a simple ‘Melda tár’.

“I was not aware I had sent for you.” The King states cooly without turning to look at you. 

“You haven’t, Melda tár, I come of my own accord.” You’re careful to keep your voice as emotionless as his. 

“I was under the impression that you were no longer welcome in my company.” 

“I do not come for myself, I come for my mother.” 

The king says nothing and you push him further. 

“You caused her great insult.”

“I told her of nothing but the truth.”

“You questioned her parenting methods!” You cry in frustration. “Have I caused you such insult that you would offend my own mother?”

The King’s answer is swift and blunt. “Yes.” 

You recoil as though you’ve been physically struck. How dare he speak to you in such a tone! “I apologise for the inconvenience, Melda tár.” You take great effort to sound as scathing as possible. “It seems the many years of service that I have offered you truly amounts to nothing.” You glare at the back of the King’s head. He seems quite content to ignore you. “Rest assured that my family and I will be gone by the morn and you need not see us again.”

When the king still says nothing you turn on your heel and march towards the door.

“You are truly going to leave?” 

You pause, but do not look back at him. “You assume I will not?”

“In the past you have threatened me with such things, but never have you carried the threat out.”

“Never before have I been treated so poorly by the one who swore to protect me. Never before have I been made to feel guilty for calling for aid” You turn back to him and find that he has now turned to you. Concern floods you as you can now clearly see the blood that still smears his face.

“I ordered you to stay here.”The King points out.

“And I told you 900 years ago that I will not follow foolish orders!”

“How am I supposed to protect you if you keep throwing yourself in the line of danger!” 

“I don’t need protecting!” You object, thing four steps back as Thranduil takes three steps forwards. “I am a warrior! You have sung my praise a hundred times over! Tauriel and and the Prince have recommended me more than any other elf! I have proved my worth ten times over!”

Thranduil swiftly reaches out and grips the top of your shoulders. “I am trying to protect you from yourself! You are young, brave and fearless. You think you have something to prove to everyone, but it will get you hurt or worse.” As you try to pull away from the King his grip tightens and he pulls you closer. “Your beauty surpass that of every other elf to grace these lands. When you pass through a crowd all eyes turn to follow you, but you do not see them. You do not see the ones jealous of your beauty and talent, the ones who hate you for your skills nor the ones who despise you for your connections. You are at just as much risk as I am.”

“So you decided insulting my mother and I was the best way to protect me?” You snap. With a single short, sharp movement you pull away from the King. “I can look after myself. I don’t need your help.”

“I know, but…” Thranduil trails off. Pain flashes across his face before it is replaced by a mask of steely resolve. “If you want to go, then go. I won’t stop you.” He turns from you and stalks back to the window. 

You pause for a minute before everything slots into place. 

For the last few decades you have been closer to Thranduil than even his son. Your relationship, kept secret from everyone, has developed into something that cannot be easily severed. You have, rather unexpectedly, taken the place of his wife. Or at least, you’re now equal to her. 

When the Queen died she dies in agony and humiliation. No elf should have gone through what she had, and no one blamed her when she gave up her fight and let death take her. 

Thranduil couldn’t save her.

The King had tried to keep her safe, and when that failed he tried to find her. It was to no avail. The Queen died alone and in pain, and for many centuries Thranduil couldn’t move beyond her death . You had helped him to recover and overcome the guilt. Now he was trying to protect you from the same fate that has awaited his wife. He meant well, but because he had difficulty turning well meaning thoughts into equally well meaning words, he had come across offensive and disrespectful. 

Your anger slowly ebbs away with each quiet step you take towards the back of the King. “You need to work on your communication skills.” You murmur as you wrap your arms around the King’s chest. “It’s going to get you into trouble.”   
Thranduil bows his head and takes your hands in his, lifting them to his face so that he can press gentle kisses to them. “Somehow I think you’ll forgive me.”  
You chuckle into Thranduil’s shoulder, the cool metal of his armour pointing through his travelling cloak. “You might want to work on it even so. Other people might not be so lenient.”

Thranduil twists in your grip, moving his hands to your face. “I am truly sorry. You have my sincerest apologies, as does your mother.”

“You might want to give her your apologies in person. She might lead an uprising otherwise.”

Thranduil chuckles, leaning down to place a gentle kiss against your lips. “I will make sure of it. As long as you stay with me.”

You return the kiss with against smile. “Forever and always.”  
  



End file.
